Katherine's Prophecy

by Scott Wittenburg

  “Do you want to read it?” he asked, handing it over to her.

  She shook her head anxiously. “No, you read it. I’m almost afraid to.”

  Emily handed the letter back to him. Lenny opened it up and immediately recognized Nancy’s neat, fluid handwriting. He began reading aloud:

  My Dearest Clem,

  The reason I’m writing you is twofold. We have made a vow never to keep secrets from each other and I must now confess that I have been keeping one from you for quite some time. I should have told you long before now but I’ve always changed my mind, thinking that perhaps it’s best not to. Soon you will understand why this has been such a dilemma for me.

  I’ve chosen to write you this letter because you are now in bed fast asleep and I don’t want to disturb you. After the accident you had earlier today, I know that you need all the rest you can get. And Lord knows it’s difficult enough to get you to rest as it is!

  The other reason I’ve chosen to write is because I need to express myself now, while I have the courage. Tomorrow, I may not feel so bold, so this letter should serve well in that likely event.

  In August of last year, two days after Doc Pritchart told me that I was pregnant with Katie, John Hoffman passed by the house in his hunting gear. I was outside hanging up the laundry and you were at work. He said “hello,” then came over to me and started conversing. Then, after a few minutes of idle conversation, he suddenly tried to kiss me. I managed to pull myself away from him just in time, which made him angry. I could smell liquor on his breath and I suddenly began to fear that he was going to try to take advantage of me by the look in his eyes after I rebuffed him.

  My worst fears were confirmed when he suddenly grabbed me then forced me into the house. Once we were inside, he pushed me down onto the floor near the cook stove and threatened me; telling me that if I resisted his advances, he’d kill me. I was so frightened, Clem, and all I could think about was the baby I had growing inside me and that I had to be careful not to endanger it.

  So I did as he told me, hoping that once he’d gotten whatever it was he wanted, that he would just leave. He told me to remove my clothes, which I did, and then he removed his clothes. He then got on top of me and started pawing me all over for a long time. You must believe me Clem, that I’ve never been so frightened and repulsed in all my life!

  After ten minutes or so of this, he started getting angry because he’d been unable to achieve an erection. In his rage, he started hitting me, and twice he struck me in my midsection with his fist. I started fearing for the baby’s life and my own, so I started struggling with him. He started screaming obscenities at me, saying that I was the reason he couldn’t perform and that there must be something wrong with me. I will never forget the look in his eyes, Clem. They were the eyes of a madman!

  After several minutes of ranting and raving, he suddenly started weeping like a baby. Had it been under different circumstances, I might have felt pity for him—he was that pathetic. But I had no pity for the monster and when I saw the opportunity, I reached up onto the stove and managed to grab a frying pan then hit him squarely on the head with it as hard as I could.

  The blow knocked him unconscious. I stood up and put my clothes on then got your shotgun and waited for him to come to. When he did, nearly ten minutes later, I pointed the shotgun at him and ordered him to leave. After he got dressed and started to leave, he had a queer smirk on his face. He told me that if I so much as breathed a word to anyone what had happened that he would first fire you from the mill then decide what he would do beyond that. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he meant it, too.

  Clem, I realize now that I should have told you about this the day it happened, but I was afraid to. We both know how influential John Hoffman is in these parts and I couldn’t see any sense, at the time, in taking any chances. After all, I’d thought, no real harm had been done, other than the fear and humiliation I experienced that day.

  But I now realize that I must tell you—not only to ease my conscience, but because of what all has happened since that day.

  For a while after he attacked me, John Hoffman acted as though nothing had ever happened whenever he passed the house on his way to hunt or fish. But when he learned that I was in a family way with Katie, he began believing, wrongly of course, that the baby was his. He started coming by the house more and more frequently, while you were at work, and he’d say such things as, “How’s our little baby doing today?” and, “Don’t you overdo it today, Nancy, or you just might endanger our little pride and joy.” I tried ignoring him at first and then I finally told him flatly that he knew there was no way on earth that the child could be his. He just laughed, like a lunatic, and refused to acknowledge what I was saying.

  In my frustration at the whole situation, I decided one day to confront Doc Pritchart with all that had happened. After he’d heard everything, he told me in “strictest confidentiality” that John Hoffman was in fact, a mentally disturbed man. He told me that he’d complained of being sexually inadequate for as long as he’d been his physician and that this was most likely the reason for his illness and his resultant aggressive behavior. When I asked him how this could be so, seeing as he had a son, Warren, he replied—again in strictest confidentiality—that he was quite certain that John Hoffman wasn’t Warren’s real father! I was of course absolutely shocked when he told me this and I must admit that it piqued my curiosity, but the doctor didn’t elaborate. At any rate, as you know, John Hoffman’s wife died of unknown causes not long after giving birth to Warren, and Doc Pritchart told me that the sudden loss of his wife had only served to make John Hoffman even more unbalanced mentally than he already was.

  Doc Pritchart then explained that although some might think it unethical of him to be divulging this information, he felt morally justified to in light of the circumstances. He cautioned me not to provoke John Hoffman; that it was best to just let him go on thinking whatever he wanted to think. Otherwise, he was liable to get violent again. He went on to say that people like John Hoffman were very unpredictable and that it normally didn’t take much to set them off. He assured me that in time, all of this would most likely blow over and John Hoffman would no longer pose a threat.

  I thanked the doctor and gave him my word that I would keep silent regarding all he’d told me. I felt better having learned what I had, and no longer felt any pressing need to tell you about this, my dear husband. I knew though, in the back of my mind, that someday I would.

  And after what happened this evening after supper, I realized that I must tell you right away.

  As you slept, John Hoffman came by the house while I was fetching water from the well. He told me that he’d heard about your accident down at the creek and offered his condolences. I thanked him and then informed him that Doc Pritchart had advised you to stay off your injured leg for a few days and as a result, would be unable to go in to work on Monday. John Hoffman was very considerate and told me that you could take off work as long as needed until you were up and around again. I was surprised at his sudden cordiality, and I thanked him again for being so understanding.

  He then asked if he could come inside to see Katie. I protested at first, telling him that both you and the baby were sound asleep and that I didn’t want either of you to be disturbed. He started coaxing me, promising that he only wanted a moment and that he’d be as quiet as a mouse. I thought about how nice he was being and recalled what the doctor had said, so I decided to let him come in.

  I led him over to Katie’s crib and he stood for a moment just staring at her with a big grin on his face. Then he turned to me and said, “She looks just like me, doesn’t she?” I nearly fainted; his tone of voice frightened me. I objected as diplomatically as I could, reminding him that you were Katie’s father and adding that I in fact felt that she favored you more than she favored me. It was at that moment that his demeanor suddenly changed, and I guess something inside of him just snapped.

  He told me that
I must be blind; that any fool could see that Katie shared his traits and not yours. He then told me not to worry though, that he was going to let you go on raising Katie just as though she were your own, but that it was only fair that you should know the truth. He said that the next time he saw you, he was going to tell you that he was really Katie’s father. It took all I had to keep myself under control after he said that. I pleaded with him not to do it; that it would only stir up trouble between you and I. He told me that he was sorry but that he simply had to do it—that it was only fair to ‘his little girl’. Then, after he leaned down and kissed Katie’s forehead, he smiled at me oddly then left the house.

  What frightens me, Clem, are the implications here. I wasn’t particularly concerned about his telling you that which you already know is untrue—I was merely humoring him. But what really concerns me is what John Hoffman might do next. The man is insane, and I fear that he’s capable of doing just about anything at this point. I’m also concerned as to how you’re going to react to all of this. Whatever your reaction, please, my love, don’t be angry with me. I apologize for waiting until now to tell you this; and I know how it must look to you. For that, I can only pray that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. But please, Clem, consider what Doc Pritchart said about John Hoffman. Perhaps it would be best to do as he recommends, and not provoke him.

  I love you with all my heart and soul. Both you and our darling baby daughter have made me the happiest woman on God’s green earth.

  I love you,

  Yours always,

  Nan

  When he finished reading the letter, Lenny looked at Emily and was both surprised and elated to see that there was a broad grin on her face.

  “I can’t believe it, Lenny!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Not only does this letter confirm the fact that John Hoffman was not Grandma Katherine’s father, it also explains why Grandpa Warren was so unlike him. He wasn’t even his real son!”

  Lenny was stunned at how well Emily was reacting to the letter. Didn’t she even suspect that John Hoffman might have had something to do with the fire? Surely, he thought, she must have deduced that the fire occurred on the very same night that Nancy had written the letter.

  Then a thought suddenly occurred to him. It was plausible that Emily assumed Nancy had opted to tell Clem the contents of the letter the following day in lieu of giving it to him. In that case, the letter would have remained in the steel box and she wouldn’t question why it was still there. Or, maybe she simply figured that either Clem or Nancy had felt the letter worthy of keeping; therefore not eliciting any connection in her mind between the day the letter had been written and the day of the fire.

  Whatever the case, it was apparent that Emily saw no reason to assume that the fire had been anything but an accident—in spite of the underlying tone of Nancy’s letter and her obvious concern of “what John Hoffman might do next.”

  Lenny smiled at Emily. “Well, here’s your proof, hon. No more guessing, no more doubts. Clem Porter, your great-grandfather, was truly Katie’s father. How do you feel?”

  “God, Lenny! I feel like the weight of the world has suddenly been lifted off my shoulders! And to think that John Hoffman hadn’t even been Grandpa Warren’s biological father—it’s just too much! Do you realize what this means? It means that the name ‘Hoffman’ is only that—a name. John Hoffman had absolutely nothing to do with my family lineage from the very beginning. Which makes me wonder . . . Who had been Grandpa Warren’s real father? What was his name, what was he like?”

  Lenny cast her a sidelong glance. “Please don’t open up a whole new can of worms now, Emily!” he pleaded.

  She giggled. “Don’t worry—I was only kidding. It does make a mind wonder, though!”

  Lenny laughed. Then his expression became serious.

  “It’s amazing," he said.

  “What’s that?” Emily asked.

  “I was just thinking about the bitter irony of it all. The fact that this letter has been here all along and had anyone known that, well . . . all of this hell that you’ve been through could have been totally avoided.”

  Emily breathed a long, painful sigh. “And all the suffering that my grandmother endured . . .”

  Lenny smiled at her encouragingly. “But at least you know the truth now. And you still have your whole life ahead of you. I’m sure your grandmother would be happy knowing that.”

  Emily suddenly stared at him, wide-eyed. “This is so eerie, Lenny! Do you realize that everything Grandma Katherine told Miss Rutledge would happen has happened now? Even the part about her father coming back. That really was Clem in my dream, Lenny! And he told me that he’d come for me—just like she said he would. And now that I’ve finally found out the truth about everything, I’ll bet you anything that right this moment, he’s in heaven with Nancy and Grandma Katherine.”

  Lenny cast her a winning smile. “As unbelievable as it is, I think you’re absolutely right. Your grandmother must have had a vision of some kind just before she died, and that’s how she knew that all of this was going to happen. I know you’ve heard about those people who have experienced strange things like angels taking them by the hand and leading them up to heaven; or hearing the sound of a choir singing just before they thought they were going to die, but instead of dying, lived to tell about it. Maybe your grandmother saw Clem just before she died, and he foretold the future to her.”

  “I really would like to believe that, Lenny. It would make me feel a lot better about her; that she died a happy woman knowing that Clem was truly her father,” she said passionately.

  “Believe it, then,” Lenny said softly. He kissed her, glancing at the steel box. “Let’s see what else is in this thing.”

  Emily nodded excitedly as Lenny took out a crumpled piece of paper lying on top and unfolded it. “It’s the deed to Clem’s property,” he said, handing it to Emily.

  “And here’s their marriage license,” he said after examining the next document.

  “Let me see it.”

  Lenny handed it over and Emily began reading the yellowed document. “They were married on March 2nd, Eighteen—”

  Suddenly, she grabbed him by the arm. “My God, Lenny—that’s today!”

  He looked at her incredulously. “I’ll be damned, today is March second! Can you believe it?”

  They kissed. Emily stared into his eyes and declared, “It is fate, Lenny. And you’ve made me the happiest woman on earth!”

  “I love you, Emily.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Lenny stared at the next object lying inside the box. It was a rather large envelope, nearly as long and wide as the box itself. He took it out then gasped when he saw what lay beneath it.

  “A camera! It’s a damn Brownie camera, Emily!”

  Excitedly, Lenny handed the envelope to Emily then gingerly lifted the camera out of the box.

  “It’s in mint condition—it still has the price tag on it!”

  Emily looked first at the camera then at the envelope she was holding in her hand. “You don’t suppose . . .”

  “Open it up!”

  Excitedly, she opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. “Pictures!” she cried.

  Lenny set the camera aside and stood beside Emily.

  “Look, Lenny. This must be Nancy!”

  Lenny stared at the sepia-toned, postcard size print. It was Nancy—sitting on the front porch of the house, smiling and squinting from the glare of the bright sun shining in her face. She was wearing Clem’s old white work shirt and a pair of faded dungarees. Her face was fair, her hair long, dark, and tied up in a haphazard bun with several strands falling down onto her shoulders.

  “She’s beautiful,” Emily breathed half-aloud.

  “She sure is,” Lenny nodded in agreement.

  Emily stared in fascination at the photograph for a full minute then said, “I have her nose, don’t you think?

  Lenny looked at Emily and then at the
photograph.

  “No doubt about it. It’s sloped just like yours. Her hair looks similar, too.”

  Emily nodded. “And look at how tiny she is! I’ve always wondered why I’m so short—both my mother and my father were quite tall. Grandma Katherine was short, too. Our height came from Nancy,” she proclaimed.

  Emily flipped to the next photograph and her heart stopped.

  So did Lenny’s.

  It was a picture of the entire house, as it once had been. The barn was included in the shot as well—complete with a horse and buggy parked outside it.

  “Wow,” Lenny breathed, transfixed.

  Instinctively, they both looked around at the gutted remains where they stood then back at the picture again.

  “It’s hard to believe this is the same place,” Emily said disconcertedly.

  “Really,” Lenny said, shaking his head.

  Emily turned to the next picture. A tall man standing on the porch in overalls stared out at them. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties and wore a mustache; the expression on his gaunt, handsome face congenial but a little impatient as he posed for the picture.

  “Clem,” Emily said in a near-whisper. “He looks so handsome, so self-confident.”

  “It’s pretty obvious where your grandmother got her eyes—and you got your eyes,” Lenny commented.

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Emily turned to the next photograph. It was a shot of Nancy sitting on the front porch as she was before, only this time she held a tiny infant in her arms.

  “Katie and her mother,” she said, feeling a surge of warmth inside. They looked so natural together, mother and child.

  Moments later, she flipped to the next photo. Clem was sitting where Nancy had sat in the other photo and was holding little Katie. The joy and pride was written all over his smiling face.